


An Honest Language

by artenon



Series: RoyEd Week 2017 [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, High Fantasy, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artenon/pseuds/artenon
Summary: Sparring was a good way to release excess energy, to destress, for the brain to get away from theories and formulas for a while and lose itself in something much more base and primal. Roy was masks and layers, calculated words and even more carefully calculated moves, and Ed wanted to see him stripped bare.





	An Honest Language

**Author's Note:**

> Happy RoyEd Week 2017!! I recently re-watched FMA:B and it turns out I still love royed just as much as I did years ago so here I am. I'm not sure I'll have something for every day, but I'll do my best!
> 
> This is for day 1: high fantasy AU. My gf and I ended up developing a lot more for this AU, but I didn't have time to write a full-length fic for the ship week so here's an in-verse standalone!! I hope you enjoy it. ;v;

Ed crossed his eyes. The text in front of him was no more legible—or illegible, even—than when he’d been staring at it normally.

He pushed his chair back with an obnoxious scrape. “If I have to look at this for another minute, my eyes are going to fall out.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Roy was sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over his knee, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a quill in the other.

“You know, you’re gonna make a mess with the ink if you don’t write on a flat surface,” Ed said.

“Yes,” Roy said, looking up at him, “well, seeing as a certain someone commandeered my desk…”

“Oh, please. I know for a fact that you have more than one desk in this estate.”

Roy gave him a charming smile. “And devoid myself of your company? I’d sooner burn these papers and begin my toils anew.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Ed rolled his eyes. “What’re you even doing?” He stood and stretched, cracking his neck, and wandered over to the couch.

“You’d be surprised how much paperwork being a knight captain entails,” Roy said. “These are letters of clearance for traders to travel in and out of the city. I have to pen and sign twenty more.”

“Geez. Don’t you have people for that?”

“Yes: me. When the government only wants to pay for a military it means we have to do all of their other work, too.”

“Sucks to be you. But hey, why is this city locked up so tight anyway? Even with all my visiting professorship papers in order, the guards gave me a really hard fucking time, and I didn’t think I’d even get in until some higher up who’d heard I was coming happened by and cleared the situation up.”

It couldn’t just be because he was a sun elf, either. Sure, Central City was human-dominated and most of the people here looked at him like he was either the scum of the earth or some sort of exotic animal—and wasn’t that a swell fucking time—but he’d heard that even humans had trouble getting in.

Case in point: Roy, a knight captain who probably had more important duties to attend to, having to personally write and sign notes allowing merchants passage in and out of the city.

Roy scrunched his nose. “Why does King Bradley do anything? If I knew, I’d be a much happier man.” He paused. Sighed. Signed his next note with more force than strictly necessary. “If these letters could somehow write themselves, I would also be a happy man.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about the first, but I bet I can help with the second. C’mon, bring this stuff to the desk.”

Roy tilted his head, a silent question. Ed just grinned and beckoned him to the desk, moving his book to the side. He took one of the letters Roy had already penned and set it down, and spread out the remaining blank papers next to it.

“Gimme the inkwell.”

Roy passed it to him. “Is this an appropriate use of sorcery?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ed poured out blots of ink on three of the papers one by one, then decided that it was taking too long and dumped out the whole container haphazardly over the papers.

“I mean, this is so…mundane.”

Ed snorted. He supposed it made sense, coming from someone whose country focused solely on the wartime applications of magic. “I come from a society made up exclusively of immortal sorcerers. There’s almost nothing they _don’t_ use magic for. It’s kind of ridiculous, actually. Anyway.”

 He rested one hand on the finished letter and held the other above the rest of the papers. He exhaled slowly. With a crackle of energy, the ink puddles separated, shooting out in thin black lines in every which direction, fractals of ink spiraling out and breaking off into recognizable letters and words, neatly separated in the way of Roy’s precise handwriting, like he put thought into every word before committing it to paper. Ed, whose hand always struggled to keep up with his mind, and who needed to just get _whatever_ he could out before he lost it forever, could never hope to write so neatly.

The energy faded. Ed breathed in, admiring his handiwork: twenty sheets of paper, all bearing the same lines of text from the original letter he had taken. At the bottom of each, Roy’s signature had formed in thin, loopy lines, each one perfectly identical to the other.

“Damn,” Roy said.

“Saved your wrist, saved you time, so all in all, a productive use of sorcery, I’d say. And you don’t even have to wait for the ink to dry.” Ed shuffled the papers together in a neat stack. “So! If you don’t have any more work to do, how about we spar?”

“I don’t think my backyard would hold up very well against your sorcery,” Roy said.

Ed flapped his hand. “No shit. I meant sparring with no swords, no sorcery. Just good old hand-to-hand combat.”

Roy tried to mask his expression, but Ed caught the minute jump of his eyebrows.

“What, did you think I just cast spells all day? ‘To train the spirit, first train the body.’ A teacher I had once told me that.”

“You had a wise teacher,” Roy said. “But are you sure you can take me? I train rigorously as a knight captain, after all.”

Ed snorted. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I can take you. C’mon.”

They went to the backyard, Ed braiding his hair as he walked. There was a bounce in his step, unable to contain his excitement. Sparring was a good way to release excess energy, to destress, for the brain to get away from theories and formulas for a while and lose itself in something much more base and primal. And he hadn’t had a good fight since he and Al had left Xerxes in opposite directions, scuffle with Roy’s would-be assassin notwithstanding.

That’d been different, high adrenaline for all the worst reasons: fighting for his life, fearing for Roy’s, the confusion. Roy’s wild-eyed look after they’d fought the assailant off and gotten away, the way he’d grabbed Ed’s arms and said, “They thought I’d be alone, I’d have been dead if not for you, you _saved_ me.”

That night, Roy had shown an openness that Ed had rarely seen in him since. Roy was masks and layers, calculated words and even more carefully calculated moves. Ed didn’t think Roy had ever lied to him, but that didn’t mean he was entirely honest, either.

He’d watched Roy spar at the barracks once. He’d used his swords then, and he’d moved with confidence, landing blow after blow and leaving little opening for his opponent, a recent transfer from South City, to strike back. He was clearly in his domain, but he’d shown the same restraint then, too. Maybe it was because sparring with swords necessitated some caution for fear of causing lasting damage. Or maybe it was just because Roy knew he hadn’t needed to give any more than that to win.

Well, Ed was certainly going to give him a run for his money. He wanted no less than Roy’s best. He wanted to see him, no masks, no layers, the Roy he’d glimpsed that heart-stopping night, and nothing stripped you down to your bare bones quite like fighting with your all did, an honest language when words failed.

Outside, Ed stopped several paces away from Roy. Fuck, Ed’s head had been about to explode from all the reading he’d been doing. This wasn’t just about pushing Roy, finding his limit. Ed needed this for himself, too.

He assumed a defensive stance, fists raised, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Bring it.”

Roy hesitated. Whether it was because he was sizing Ed up or because he still didn’t think Ed could hold his own without his sorcery, he wasn’t sure. It was Roy’s loss either way. Ed had no reason to hold back.

Ed lunged, rearing his dragonscale arm. Roy barely raised his own arm in time to intercept Ed’s punch so that his fist glanced off instead of landing solidly. Roy stumbled back a step and Ed darted around behind him, landing a hit to his side and jumping back a few paces.

Roy regained his footing and dropped his stance. This time when Ed charged in, a barrage of both fists, Roy blocked and parried with his arms, grunting with the effort. Ed could see the sweat beading his forehead, could see the frown deepening on Roy’s face as he transitioned from surprised to frustrated, and he grinned madly, stepping forward in time with his punches and forcing Roy back and back and back.

The next time Ed punched with his flesh arm, Roy dodged and grabbed his bicep with one hand, pulling him forward. Ed stumbled with the momentum, and Roy threw Ed off his feet, using his other arm to pivot Ed and flip him over midair.

Ed landed heavily on his back, breathless and more than a little impressed that Roy was able to sustain his weight like that.

“You’re fast,” Roy said, “but you’re predictable.”

Ed jumped to his feet and spun around to face Roy. “Please. I was waiting for you to start fighting back.”

And fight back Roy had. Ed’s back stung, and he didn’t think Roy had been concerned about potentially hurting him in that moment.

Just how Ed liked it.

“You can’t hold back if you want even a chance of beating me,” Ed said, and went in again.

This time, Roy rushed forward to meet him. Ed neatly dodged his punch and darted behind Roy. Roy expected the move and pivoted in time to parry the oncoming kick with his arm. He hadn’t expected the heft of the dragonscale leg, though, and withdrew his arm with a wince. Ed took the opening. He threw his right fist out and Roy barely caught it with his other hand and pushed Ed away.

Ed didn’t give Roy a chance to collect himself before going back in with another punch. Roy sidestepped and dug his elbow into Ed’s back as he flew past. Ed yelped and transformed his fall into a handspring. He caught Roy’s shocked expression upside-down and smirked as he landed lightly on his feet and turned around.

“Show-off,” Roy said.

“Like you’re not,” Ed said, thinking of his pair of ornate swords with runes carved into the blade, the flintlock mechanism on the hilt that Roy would push with his thumb to create a spark.

Everyone said Roy specialized in flame sorcery, but it was really the careful modulation of oxygen levels in the air to sustain the flame and make it go where he wanted it to. Most people—sun elves with centuries of studies under their belt excepted—channeled their sorcery through staves. Roy used his swords, and the first time that Ed had seen Roy’s sorcery, it’d been to stop a fight in the city square. He’d created spirals of flame around his sword that shot several feet in the air and combusted, harmless though Ed could feel the heat of it on the back of his neck, and loud enough to turn every head in the square.

Unnecessary dramatics, as any brawl would stop the moment the civilians recognized the knight captain in their midst. Everyone knew Sir Roy Mustang.

But it was impressive; Ed would give him that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roy said, and dashed forward.

Ed dodged a series of punches and kicks, jumping from side to side and running circles around Roy to disorient him. He tried to rush in and land hits of his own between Roy’s attempts but Roy wasn’t making it easy either. He was known to be an expert swordsman but he was clearly also experienced in hand-to-hand combat by the way he was able to block or dodge even Ed’s fastest attacks.

The fight was wearing on Roy, though. He had better stamina than most people Ed had fought, but there was a toll to fighting and fighting and not being able to land a hit. Ed would know; he was feeling it, too. But fighting was one of the few places Ed knew how to be patient.

Roy broke first. With a grunt of effort, he swung his fist in a wide arc for a punch that would be painful if it landed, but that left a wide opening. Ed ducked under Roy’s arm and drove his left foot toward his stomach. To Ed’s surprise, Roy aborted his punch and withdrew. He stepped back quick enough that the kick wasn’t enough to knock him over, but he did let out a gasp of pain and stumble, and Ed rained in with his fists. He landed three hits, dancing around Roy and rushing in for quick jabs before Roy managed to shove Ed away and retreat a few precious paces himself.

Ed expected Roy to take a moment to gather himself but Roy charged straight back in. He made to strike Ed’s right and Ed hopped to the left only to be met by Roy’s right palm to his solar plexus. Ed staggered back. Fuck, so he’d realized that Ed favored dodging to deflecting, and had used that to his favor with a feint.

Ed threw himself behind Roy and swung his left leg out. Roy tried to about-face but Ed struck the backs of Roy’s knees mid-turn and sent him sprawling forward. Roy recovered quickly, rolling over and sweeping Ed’s feet from under him with his leg.

He twisted as he went down, but there wasn’t enough time to catch himself, and he crashed to the ground on his side. Cursing, he turned onto his back in time to see Roy pounce.

If Roy pinned Ed, if he prevented him from dodging and dancing around, he might be able to overpower him. Ed scrambled out of the way as Roy landed on his hands and knees beside him. Knowing this might be his only chance, Ed sprung forward and tackled him in the side, forcing him onto his back. He found Roy’s wrists and pushed them to the ground, planting his knees firmly on either side of Roy and pressing his weight down onto his chest.

Roy stared up at him, eyes wide, face flushed pink from exertion and glistening with sweat. Ed swallowed and licked his lips. Sweat dripped from his chin onto Roy’s neck.

“I win,” Ed said hoarsely.

Roy’s chest heaved. He exhaled through his mouth, hot gusts of breath over Ed’s face. They were too close, but Ed couldn’t move away without unpinning Roy’s arms, and Roy hadn’t conceded to Ed’s victory yet.

“Yield,” Ed said.

Roy hesitated a beat. Then he yanked his arm free, the one not trapped by dragonscale prosthesis, slid his hand behind Ed’s neck and surged up and kissed him.

Ed barely finished thinking _What the fuck?_ before going right to _Oh, fuck yes_. He kissed back and guided Roy back down onto the ground so he could deepen the angle, push his tongue into Roy’s mouth. Ed braced himself above Roy, supporting himself with his elbows in the grass, the fingers of one hand tangled in Roy’s hair, the other in his shirt.

Roy kissed like they’d just fought: beautifully, beautifully unrestrained. Honest and hot and forceful, and Ed moaned as Roy sucked on his lower lip.

The moan turned into a cry of surprise when Roy twisted his body and switched their positions, and suddenly Ed was the one on his back, Roy pinning his arms down and holding him firmly in place.

“Do you yield?” Roy asked.

Ed stared at him in disbelief. Roy’s breaths were still coming out hard and his cheeks were blotched redder than they had been right after Ed had pinned him first.

There was also something very telling pressed against his hip.

Ed smirked and tilted his head back, baring his neck in invitation.

“I yield.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also, check out [this spicy accompanying fanart](http://foldedstars.tumblr.com/post/164414757388) my gf did for royed week! She did such an amazing job and I'm so lucky to be able to collaborate with her. (∩´ᴗ`∩)♡
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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